


Stirring

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: Just one more thing is reminding Hannibal Lecter of Will Graham and his life back in Baltimore and Professor Solignato is really pushing his luck.
Relationships: Anthony Dimmond/Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 12





	Stirring

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the Italian arc of the third season of Hannibal while Hannibal is living in Florence with Bedelia, before Solignato’s fatal cocktail in Secondo. I don’t own Hannibal but for months it has owned me.

One man sang in a commanding, ringing tone, which spoke of eloquence and heartbreak. Another man joined him. Their voices strode against each other, battling before becoming one.

I listened, finding myself thinking for a moment of Jack Crawford, watching me with hooded eyes, clinking his glass next to mine. Will Graham sat quietly between us, not looking at either of us or his plate, not giving any hints whom truly commanded his loyalty. Perhaps neither of us. 

“A stirring song, isn’t it?” Professor Solignato sidled up next to me, sizing me up when he did. “I’m not sure you understand it.”

“They sing of a beloved protegé, a special young man whom each hopes will flourish under his tutelage.” If I closed my eyes, I might smell the meat fresh from the oven in my kitchen, steaming on a tray, mingled with the strong, earthy odor of Jack Crawford masked by a much finer aftershave than Will Graham’s. Not that Will needed it, not with his strange, wild, dark sweetness wafting up from his pores. 

“It is an old ideal, a type of passion which predates more modern notions of love.” For a moment, Solignato’s expression became melancholy, almost capable of finer emotions between sneers of distorted malevolence. How like Frederick Chilton this little man was. “Not that I’d expect you to understand such concepts.”

“I might surprise you, Professor.” For a moment Will Graham’s face floated up from my memories, his lustrous green eyes locked upon me. How beautiful he looked standing in the Norman Chapel, the entrance of my memory palace melding with the thorny wildness of his imagination. Not that I could see what Will saw, but I’d studied his every change of expression, listened to every image he was willing to share with rapt intentness that I was coming to visualize some of what haunted Will Graham. 

“Perhaps your young Antony Dimmond is as close to you as he seems.” Solignato’s smirk broaded. “A pity he made himself scarce. I would have loved to coax his tales of you from him.”

“Why not hear those tales from my own lips?” I was growing tired of this tedious little man who actually thought Antony Dimmond could inspire anything like the passion my Will enflamed. “My wife and I would love to have you for dinner.”

Solignato nodded his head with the thinnest veneer of graciousness. “I would be honored. Your wife is such a lovely woman.”

“Yes, isn’t she?” I smiled back, all pleasantness for now. 

There’d be time for a more genuine expression of emotion in private.


End file.
